The Aftermath
by scrittore.9
Summary: After the battle, when the glorious deeds that are later sung about have ended, they are left to pick up the pieces. Pre-Maria/Steve


So I just realized that this entire time I've been basing Steve and Maria's interactions off a canon that is entirely in my head. Cause yeah, there should be a little more back story. Anywho, my bad and here it is. Sorry!

SHIELD Headquarters New York was a thing to behold, a hodgepodge of modern and old fashioned that still made Steve's head hurt. It was conveniently close to Stark Tower, and though the storefront advertised an eyesore mortgage corporation, the reality of headquarters was that it was the entire block, eight buildings connected together. If Steve had thought that the helicarrier was large, it was because he hadn't yet seen headquarters.

It was two days after the battle in New York, and the city showed it. Steve had made sure, after a decent amount of sleep, that his entire team visited the medics at SHIELD, something Bruce backed him in (which was a relief, since Steve wouldn't have been able to convince them otherwise). While Bruce had disinfected wounds and cuts and bandaged everyone the day before, he insisted that they get professional help now. Tony and Clint sulked, Thor thought it was a great adventure, and Natasha was indifferent, though she helped several times in prodding Tony and Clint on.

Steve had been cleared, as had the rest, and once they had sent Loki on his way, they dispersed to wherever they all went. But when Steve pulled up on his motorcycle to what had been his apartment building, he found a giant pile of rubble. There wasn't much in that apartment to mourn over on his part, but his neighbors wept openly in the street. So he spent the next three hours wading through the rubble with a few of his sturdier neighbors, pulling anything salvageable from the ruins and putting it on the sidewalk for people to claim.

By the time darkness was falling, his neighbors began dispersing, heading off to wherever they would spend the night. He had been wandering for an hour when a black SUV pulled up and Maria Hill opened the door.

"Get in, Captain Rogers."

Maria knew she didn't have to scour the ruined city for Steve Rodgers, and every bit of common sense she still had was screaming at her that he was a big boy who could take care of himself. But maybe it was her admiration for the man who had just dedicated his second lifetime to helping people and maybe it was her lingering grief for Coulson that told her that if he was alive he would be doing the same thing, unwilling to let his idol sleep on the streets. So Maria tracked his cell phone and went to pick up her dead mentor's boyhood hero.

For the next week, Steve slept at SHIELD, occasionally encountering Clint and Natasha. They were still agents, though, so they went about their duties, and Steve was mostly left alone. Every day, he woke early, soaked in sweat and shaking as a result of yet another nightmare (though there were now aliens and will bending gods chasing him through the icy mazes).

During the day, Steve wandered the city, pitching in with clean up efforts wherever he could. Without the Captain America suit, he wasn't recognized. In a way, it was refreshing to discover that there still was a man named Steve underneath the suit and expectations.

Steve turned to face the mess hall, a fully loaded tray clutched in his hands. To his dismay, Clint and Natasha weren't there, and he didn't know anyone else. He was just about to go sit at the empty table in the middle of the room when he caught sight of Maria in the back corner.

"May I sit here, please?"

She looked up, registered his face, and looked around to check that he was talking to her. Then she remembered he was still waiting for an answer, and nodded in reply. He grinned and plunked his tray on the table in front of him, drawing a bemused smile.

"Are you going to eat all of that?"

"Yes," Steve answered earnestly.

"Okay."

"Busy day?" Steve took a large bite of lasagna and stared at her expectantly. Maria looked up from her notes again, surprised that he was still talking to her.

"Yes," she answered when she wasn't able to discern any traces of anything but genuine interest in Steve's face. "We're working cleanup in the city, trying to figure out where to put the alien whales and bodies and double checking global security- anywhere an Einstein-Rosen bridge or any other portal may open. And," she paused, her face stony, "we're putting together all the funerals."

Steve chewed his piece his bread thoughtfully. "I'm sorry," he offered, and Maria offered him a tired smile.

"Thank you."

The next time they met in the mess hall was after another battle. It hadn't been a serious or even particularly large one- Bruce had stayed back at the tower because Hulk was too large scale for the eight monster robot squirrels that had been let loose in Central Park. Still, debriefings had to be conducted and reports made, and Maria was running solely on coffee at this point. She was at her table, scribbling out the mountains of paperwork that inevitably collected due to incidents like these, inhaling coffee, and missing Phil.

"Can I sit here?"

"Be my guest."

"So, squirrels, huh? That's got to be a new one."

"Drug dealer in Vienna moved his product in mechanical squirrels programmed with coordinates to drop locations."

"Really?!" Steve stared at her, his innocent incredulousness tugging at something inside her chest. She chalked it up to caffeine.

"Truly. If I never see another squirrel again it will be too soon."

The next day, a stuffed squirrel toy appeared on her desk with a target painted on its forehead, and Maria Hill cracked up for the first time in a longer time than she had remembered.

Phil's funeral was horrible. She knew it was going to be hard; seeing the flag draped coffin just made it more real in her mind. She was giving his obituary, though she still wasn't sure if it was because she wanted to or because Fury had some notion that it would give her closure. So she stood at the front of the chapel full of agents, grieving people, and pulled herself together. Her speech was cold and bordering on impersonal; as she walked back to her seat, trying to concentrate on balancing in her heels and uniform skirt, trying to keep her face impassive, she caught the disapproving looks from some. Well, everyone had a different way to grieve.

The burial and reception afterward were painful, and Maria stood dutifully at Fury's right shoulder, giving the appropriate condolences when they were required from her. Finally when it was over, she stumbled away, out of headquarters to god knew where.

It was chilly for a fall night, but Maria pushed on, barely seeing the recovering city as she passed through it. Her feet were killing her, and she slipped out of her heels, carrying them in one hand as she padded down the street.

"Lieutenant Hill?"

"What, Rogers," she muttered, not turning to face him as he materialized behind her.

"Ma'am, it's too cold for you to be out without a jacket."

"I'm not cold," Maria muttered petulantly, but her traitorous body chose that moment to shiver violently, and she heard a sigh as a jacket was placed around her shoulders. It smelled like him, soldier clean, and she had to press her eyes shut to keep the tears from falling.

"Please, Ma'am, come inside?" Finally she turned to face him, concern written all over his face and his dress uniform pristine, and something inside her broke.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, catching her as she sobbed. "It's alright."

For once, Maria Hill was too tired to care how she looked, about staying strong for others, about not showing emotion. For the first time in years she was allowing herself to cry, and she had a lot to cry for.

She was shoeless, wrapped in a too big jacket with smudged makeup and hair falling in her eyes, sobbing so hard in his arms her small body shook, and he felt fiercely protective. The ice queen from Phil's funeral was a front, one that he appreciated, knowing how difficult her position could be. Neither of them knew how long she cried for, just that afterward, they felt a little bit better.

After that, Stark finally convinced Steve to move into his tower, and Maria saw a lot less of him. It was for the better, she told herself fiercely. He was too kind, too good and innocent, and far too easy for her to like. And someone as despicable as her didn't deserve a hero like him.

"Sorry, Phil," she told his headstone. "I did my best. But he's happier now."


End file.
